Kathleen O'Connell

And in fairness, they also have to take into account the kind of company that they actually are. ABT tours regularly, and its productions have to accommodate that fact. For instance, there are about a bazillion kids in the Garland Dance from NYCB's "Beauty" but only two in ABT's, where they look kind of lonely, frankly. I assume that that difference is at least partly driven by the reality of taking a show on the road: you can find and rehearse two stage-worthy local students wherever you go, but a dozen or more might be a tall order. NYCB, however, has a school full of kids it both wants and needs to get on stage. (Yes, ABT has a school now too -- and it will be interesting to see how that shapes future productions.) Whether one likes it or not, ABT's story ballets are also vehicles to get international stars in front of an American public. They have to be constructed in a way that allows guest principals to bungee in for a performance or two with maximum efficiency. Could it put on the kind of "Let's spend a year going back to the original notation!" Giselle that PNB recently did?

I'd have more patience for Kirkland's scorn for "glorified triviality" if her and her husband's version of "Sleeping Beauty" weren't such a godawful, wrongheaded mess. I guess we have to take it as it is. Just another choreographic assessment, probably one that's not very popular, although also probably with a few followers here and there. Just as our own opinions. BT's "Favorite variation" and "Least favorite variation" have its good share of pieces that belong to both threads. I don't think it's as simple as "I [do / don't] like [abc] variation because there's [so much / not enough] [xyz] in it." Kirkland's comment irks me because her version of "Sleeping Beauty" is in my opinion flawed in much the way that she claims NYCB's "Coppelia" is -- i.e., it's a "stylistic travesty." Example: Act II opens with Prince Florestan and his pals jumping around like jesters. It makes no dramatic sense -- Florestan is supposed to be a melancholy man apart searching for the ideal -- but Kirkland and her collaborators decided that the curtain must go up on some male pyrotechnics, and so it does. Many of the fairytale divertissements have been replaced by fairies doing what looks like "pure dance" to me. I'm not annoyed that she found Balanchine wanting -- there are times when I find him wanting, too, and some of those times happen to be in Act III of NYCB's "Coppelia -- I'm annoyed because she's in a glass house throwing stones. Man, that production (ABT's "Beauty") makes me intemperate ... grrr ... but enough.

I'd have more patience for Kirkland's scorn for "glorified triviality" if her and her husband's version of "Sleeping Beauty" weren't such a godawful, wrongheaded mess.

What! You don't love a dancer yelling "Dies ist Kalbfleish!" while she stuffs some veal cutlets into her pointe shoes, straps 'em on, and bourées around an industrial hellhole? I know what you mean -- although I thought of Mike Meyers' "Sprockets" rather than "Spinal Tap" ("Dis is dee part of shprockets ver vee tahnz!)-- but I like Bausch and the film anyway.

And considering the abbreviated seasons recently from Limon and Graham, a long run like this seems even more important. It's admittedly an aficionado's perspective, but there's nothing like marinating in a company during a multi-week season. Other than Ailey, I can't think of another modern dance troupe that reliably mounts one at some New York City venue year after year. Am I missing anyone? Pilobolus? I'm not sure there's anyone else who reliably gets even a one-week NY season year-in-and-year-out. Even a week in NYC costs a bundle to do. And ABT's incredible shrinking City Center seasons have me in a real funk -- that's where I enjoy watching the company the most. (Although I'd love watching them at NYST even more ... but that's a matter for a different thread.)

I was at the Wednesday 3/21 performance, and saw "Junction," "3 Epitaphs," "House of Cards," and "Mercuric Tidings." I think both the company and Taylor's choreography look splendid in their new NYC digs. I was a little concerned that the larger confines -- both stage and hall -- might drain the life out of at least some of the works (the way the Met's towering vastness can, IMO). But no, everything on the program looked vivid and bristling with energy -- even tiny, loopy "3 Epitaphs." "Mercuric Tidings" and "House of Cards" especially really bloomed in the space. I've never grown accustomed to the way dance looks at City Center. I'm one of those people who likes to watch dance at least one level up from the orchestra (or from the back of the orchestra if there's no up to be had). City Center's hall is so shallow that even from the Grand Tier (which I don't like) or the front of the Mezzanine (which I like better) the dancing looks oddly foreshortened and the stage looks like a postage stamp even though it's not that small. You're closer to the dancers, yes, but the angle of view strikes me as an unhappy one. It's like peering down into a crevasse rather than gazing out over a vista. In NYST, you are further from the dancers, but because the hall is deeper the angle of view lets the choreography breathe, even from on high. So, I for one, am thrilled by the move. The theater was comfortably full -- maybe it's the novelty of a Lincoln Center season coupled with the Atrium's ability to push discount tickets close to the performance date. The third and fourth rings were closed, but the company always closed off City Center's balcony, so this seemed like business as usual. (On weeknights during a PTDC run, City Center's huge front and rear Mezzanine could seem distressingly underpopulated even so.) Like everyone else on the planet I wish the company could afford live music, and when I win Lotto I will make sure that that happens. But I wasn't as troubled by the recorded music as I expected to be from the press reports. It sounded odd at first because the sound was coming straight at me head on rather than up from out of the pit. I was surprised at how disconcerting that was -- but I guess thirty plus years of attending ballet and opera performances in that particular venue with live music has conditioned me to expect a particular sonic landscape and my ears were caught off guard by the change. And of course recorded music never sounds as richly dimensional as live music, even in NYST's less-than-ideal acoustics. (Although these were admittedly improved by the recent renovation -- the bassoon always seemed to be going "braaap-braaap-braaap" somewhere behind my left ear, and that just doesn't happen anymore.) But once I got used to it, the fact that the music was recorded slipped to the back of my consciousness. In any event, PTDC has been using recorded music for some time now -- so it's just a fact of life. I hope the company continues to get the fundraising support it needs to make a 3 week Lincoln Center season feasible for years to come. Two two-week seasons would be even better.

Well, yes, using the known facts and historical background as a basis. Ah, Irving Stone. Not the world's greatest writer by any means, but he introduced me to a lot of history. I remember particularly enjoying his spirited defense of Jessie Benton Fremont. And "Lust for Life" is a good book, full stop. I think I read "The Agony and the Ecstasy" something like four times between the ages of 12 and 14. Until I went to college, every thing I knew about Andrew Jackson I learned from "The President's Lady."

I would suggest those are somewhat different cases, however. "Apollo" held a unique place in the canon, Balanchine worked on it with Stravinsky, the music was intended for ballet. It does seem to me that Balanchine's diddling with it is particularly curious. Parenthetically, in Balanchine's defense I can understand or any other choreographer would choose not to set all the movements of a symphony or a suite if it doesn't work for what he has in mind - he left off the first movement of Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 3 for "Diamonds" and it's easy to see why. And I find his use of Mendelssohn far easier on the ears than Lanchbery's and Ashton's. Editing isn't necessarily the issue so much as how it's done, perhaps. Well, at least he waited until Stravinsky was dead! Funnily enough I'm not particularly bothered when 18th/19th century music written specifically for the theater is cut, rearranged, or augmented with material composed for another work: that was part of standard theatrical operating practice then and remains so today. What Balanchine did with "A Midsummer Night's Dream" certainly wasn't at odds with that tradition -- and we're the lucky beneficiaries of his skill in knitting together a lovely score. But I nonetheless persist in thinking of 18th/19th century concert music as wholes that shouldn't be cut, even though in Beethoven's time (and later) concerts were more like variety shows and it wasn't unusual for shorter pieces to be inserted in between the movements of a symphony. (Obviously this is before we got all snobbish about not clapping between movements. Time was when musicians were disheartened if you didn't clap between the movements or even applaud at the end of a cadenza. But I digress.) Still, they're meant to be heard as wholes. Plus, first movements are often formally the most rigorous part of a multi-movement work, so it seems to me like a special indignity when they're cut. I suspect it comes down to what one is used to hearing. I really do miss the first movement of "Scotch Symphony" ...

I know that I for one have kvetched about Martins' R+J, but as Colleen points out, there are some good things in it and I wish the production could be fixed. I think it's much to Martins' credit that he didn't opt for a sentimental, easy-sell Renaissance Disneyland version of "Romeo and Juliet": it's a dark tale about a dark time and there's value in letting it look ominous, if not downright nasty. That said, I wish Martins had found a production designer who could have helped him realize that vision more skillfully than Kirkeby did. His Verona doesn't look ominous or nasty: it looks like it was built on the cheap. And I thank Martins for creating good roles for talented dancers who don't happen to be tall. I suppose Martins' Mercutio, Tybalt, and Benvolio can seem cliched, but I think he lets all three be more than the sum of their pyrotechnics. Mercutio practically steals the show in Shakespeare's play, too, so I'm pleased that Martins saw no need to overturn that bit of tradition when he had a dancer like Ulbricht to hand. (An aside: Mark Morris had the brilliant idea of casting Mercutio and Tybalt with women. For once it was possible to tell one dashing young Renaissance swain from another and it really showcased the conflict between the two men, which did not for a moment get lost in the on-stage hubbub. I really liked Morris' "Romeo & Juliet" -- happy ending and all -- but I don't think it met with much critical success.) I have mixed feelings about "The Slap" -- Martins has to somehow convey to a modern audience that Juliet's defiance of her family is a much more fraught and serious undertaking than your average bout of teen rebelliousness -- and the slap does suggest that she's at risk of more than being grounded. But there are already enough casual, creepy images of violent conflict between men and women in Martins' other ballets that this one makes me uncomfortable above and beyond the dramatic conflict it's meant to convey. ("Barber Violin Concerto" has many examples of what I'm talking about, and not just in the closing duet between the barefoot modern woman and the ballet cavalier. There's an image of flailing feminine fists in one of the "Fearful Symmetries" duets, too.) But as Colleen points out, at the very least it needs to be well-executed! Fairchild and Hyltin both did Martins proud when the ballet was new, and I'm glad to hear that they're protrayals are still moving and true.

He also cut some great music. Farrell said in her book she was sufficiently surprised by that to remark on it to him - "You don't usually cut music like that." "No, I don't," he replied. End of discussion. ("Shut up, he explained.") It's not as if Balanchine never did violence to music, although messing around with "Apollo" is a uniquely criminal offense as far as I'm concerned. He lopped off the first movement of Mendelssohn's "Scotch Symphony," reordered the movements in Tchaikovsky's "Serenade," and cheerfully mixed and matched bits of Vivaldi and Corelli for "Square Dance." He plumped up the score for "A Midsummer Night's Dream" with extracts from other of Mendelssohn's works. (Although in fairness, I think that only "String Symphony No 9" is actually truncated.) He eventually got around to setting all of Tchaikovsky's "Suite No. 3" but until 1970 only used the "Theme and Variations" movement. Etc etc etc. And don't get me started on the concoction of Bellini's greatest hits that he used for the score for "La Sonnambula." The reordered movements in "Serenade" really bug me; I understand that Balanchine needed the "Elegie's" death and transfiguration music at the end to tie up the drama, but the "Finale" (the "Tema Russo") is so clearly a FINALE (with recapitulated themes and everything) that to my ears at least it sounds ludicrous to hear it in the middle of the ballet. I like the birth scene and the apotheosis on the stairs too.

The woman is every kind of awesome. I saw her in "Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux" this season too, and it was the first time I can remember being blown away by the lifts. Peck was so gloriously, gorgeously on the music it was like watching a flower explode into bloom right before your eyes. Obviously her partner (Gonzalo Garcia) gets a ton of credit for the effect, but she made the most of the beautiful opportunity he gave her. And I would sit through "The Seven Deadly Sins" twice if it were a precondition for watching Tiler Peck and Robert Fairchild dance "The Man I Love."

I too am hesitatant to say "Don't go" -- especially if your reason for going is to see a dancer you really like (I really like Stanley, too). I've been to see "R+J" once, and now that that box is checked I won't trouble myself to go see it again. I would like to see more of both new Romeos (Zachary Catazaro is debuting as well), but would prefer that they were featured in some other, better ballet. Storytelling isn't Martins' strong suit and Per Kirkeby's "R+J" production -- every bit as much of an inert eyesore as his production for "Swan Lake" -- doesn't give him any help. Never has Renaissance Italy looked so dinky. But -- and this is a big but -- you will get to see Stanley (and some other very fine dancers) do a lot of dancing. If you can get past the sets and costumes, like Martins' choreography in general, and don't mind that the storytelling is hit or miss, you will get the chance to see a rising young dancer you like test himself against new challenges, and that's no bad thing.

Oh, I like all kinds of Firebirds! One of the good things about the current NYCB roster is that it can offer many valid takes on the same role. I haven't seen Bouder's Firebird in a few years, but I liked her energy and attack. I really liked Sofiane Sylve's Firebird, too -- talk about vivid. I enjoy Reichlen's coolness in general, and appreciated it last night -- I thought it made her Firebird seem appropriately otherworldly, especially in the Berceuse. And I liked that her Firebird was true to her temperament as a dancer -- that she didn't put on some sort of "I am a fierce fiery creature" act. And speaking of beautiful tall blond dancers -- I was sad to note that Kaitlyn Gilliland's name is no longer on the roster. I'll miss her.

I saw "Les Carillons" twice yesterday, once during the all-Wheeldon matinee (with "Polyphonia" and "DGV") and once again at the evening performance (with "Stravinsky Violin Concerto" and "The Firebird"). I was disappointed. The men's costumes--very traditional with the faux frisson of one bare arm--pretty much sums up the overall look of the choreography. Wheeldon has taken standard ballet vocabulary (some of it very pretty) and has tried to sex it up with "non-traditional" gestures and combinations. (I hesitate to say "modern" since it all looks very 15 years ago. Also, some of the gestures--a particularly baroque filip of the arms, some faintly hussar like posturing for the men--seem intended to evoke the past.) They look as fussy, mannered, and clichéd as the costumes. An arabesque is a beautiful and expressive thing all on its own; it's not going to bore us to show it to us straight. (And can I just say that Robert Fairchild has a beautiful arabasque.) There were some Ratmansky-isms. I couldn't tell if Wheeldon was trying to use them or if he was poking a little fun at them. Members from the ensemble drift onto the stage in sculptural groups and hover in the shadows behind the main action. In Ratmansky's work they evoke the community in which the drama between two dancers plays out. In "Les Carillons" they look like voyeurs. Tiler Peck has a solo (interrupted by a trio with Gonzalo Garcia and Daniel Ulbrecht) in which she stops in relevé and swivels one of her points back and forth, looking for all the world as if she were crushing out the cigarette from "Namouna." (There are echos of "Emeralds" too, as well as of your standard-issue perky village maiden.) As in Ratmanksy, there are little dollops of dramatic action that hint at a larger tale. Remaining alone onstage after a duet with Fairchild, Wendy Whelan wanders sorrowfully among some frolicking couples (She appears to have been left behind by her man, something that happens a lot to Wheeldon ballerinas.) Sara Mearns is left alone too in some kind of stand-off with the principal men. (Later she gets a sorta gypsy, sorta flamenco solo that recalls the great solo Ratmansky gaver her in "Namouna"; it's not as good, but Mearns dances the hell out of it anyway.) But they add up to nothing: there's no sense of a Whelan story or a Mearns story implicitly driving the dancing. We see a sad girl, we see a fiery girl. End of story that never really happened. It's drama unearned. "Polyphonia" looked very good -- and it was a pleasure to see Adrian Danchig-Waring back and getting some meaningful stage time. Maria Kowroski and Tyler Angle were partners in both "Les Carillons" and "DGV"; they continue to look wonderful together. There is life after Askegard. I loved Teresa Reichlen's Firebird; her Berceuse was especially gorgeous and touching. I loved Savannah Lowery's big, sunny Princess, too. She didn't get lost in the costume for one thing, and her dancing is so open hearted and forthright that she's an effective foil for the more complicated Firbird. I've always liked Jonathan Stafford's Prince Ivan; there was a bit less juice to his dancing in the monster scene than I remember, but his witty, winsome portrayal really works in this production. Kudos to the corps -- they looked great in everything at both performances. Special mention to Marika Anderson, Gretchen Smith, Devin Alberda, and Ralph Ippolito, who danced a hat trick (or three-peated?) at the evening performance. Megan LeCrone has been dancing beautifully lately -- somebody, please, pull her out of the back row -- I want to see more.

Dirac, thanks for the links! I hadn't come across either of these pieces before (how did I miss Acocella's?) -- very enlighening. I had a little trouble deciphering Wenders' comments about the outdoor scenes, but it sounds like they're "micro-extracts" from works in each of the dancers' repertoire that they worked on closely with Bausch. So we can scratch my speculation that they were from "Vollmond" and were shot outside to get around the limitations of the set, which Wenders' apparently doesn't think was so limited anyway. I've read a couple of reviews now where the critic didn't like the outdoor stagings; I did, but then I've only seen a handful of the dances in Bausch's 40-work catalogue (and the dancier ones at that), so I might have minded more if I'd experienced them in a theater and then had to confront them performed on a traffic island with a monorail gliding by overhead. I love Wenders for this quote:

I saw "Pina" again yesterday, this time without any fire alarms. Some quick thoughts on a second viewing: 1) Now that I've seen it without any interruptions I can definitely say that it is too long. 2) The dancer commentaries didn't wear well the second time through. It started to feel like someone recounting one of their dreams: it's information so personal that its meaning vanishes the moment the words hit the air. SInce we don't get any other information about Bausch -- her history, her influences, her working methods, etc -- there's nothing to hang the comments onto other than the dancers' obvious commitment to Bausch. But since we see that in the dancing, we don't need to hear their words, or at least not so many of them. 3) The film lost focus somewhere around the transition from the "Kontakthof" to the "Vollmond" episodes. I think "Vollmond" itself may be the problem. Even if you don't know the overall trajectory of "Cafe Müller" and "Sacre" you can still glean the basic dramatic thrust of those works from the episodes presented. If someone asked you who these peope were and what they were up to--psychically, if not in terms of an actual plot--you could comeup with something. "Vollmond" (which I haven't seen) looks more diffuse, at least as Wenders presents it. There's no community there, and no obvious dramatic idea, just a bunch of people in pretty clothes dancing around a big honking rock and a dark puddle. The choreography looks like noodling; the vocabulary is limited and it's repetitive in a way that suggests a lack of inspiration rather than repetition serving as an expressive device. I wasn't taking notes, but it's my impression that most of the material restaged outdoors is from "Vollmond." No wonder: the rock, the rain, and the puddle may work on a stage, but the camera doesn't love them the way it loves the onstage dirt in "Sacre." However impressive it may be in the theater, the "Vollmond" stage picture just looks inert on film. You can see how shallow that dark puddle really is; the rock looks like a "Star Trek" rock. I'd be tempted to move outside too. 4) The 3D feels like a third way of looking at something, not like a more accurate emulation of reality. The opening shot of (I think) the plaza around the theater looks like a diorama or a tilt shift photo. That's fine with me. 5) The film is nonetheless well worth seeing. What I'd really like to see is "Sacre" and "Cafe Müller" shot by Wenders in their entirety. I thought that his camera work in "Sacre" was especially effective -- the visceral energy of the massed groups especially whomps you right in the chest.

Other than "Cafe", can you identify which dance is which? I saw this yesterday. Also, how were the dances generally staged or presented? Outdoors? On film? As performance art? "Sacre" is the one with the dirt on the stage; "Vollmond" is the one with the rock, the rain, and the big puddle; "Kontakthof" is the one with the old people.

Well, that's certainly the $64,000 question! For many, probably most of the people in the audience, this will be what they know of Bausch's work -- as a filmmaker, Wenders will draw an audience because it's his work, not because it's about her work. People won't be able to say that they've seen Sacre, or Cafe Muller, or either of the other pieces that he draws extensive excerpts from, but I do think they'll be able to say they've seen a part of what Bausch was as a dance maker. But we all know that repetition gives the opportunity for further depth -- whatever the actual content. We still learn new things about Swan Lake, even if we've seen it multiple times with many different casts. I think, if you needed to make a Cliff Notes guide to Pina Bausch's style, this film wouldn't be far off. And perhaps that's the best we can ask of it, at least on that level. Sandik -- I think you nailed it here. If you want to know what Bausch's work looks like and where she is on the dance spectrum, "Pina" is a decent (and very well-crafted) place to start. Wenders loved and admired Bausch's work: per his own telling, he--not much of a dance fan at the time--got dragged to a performance of "Cafe Müller," cried his eyes out, and became a convert. I think he wants the audience to have a conversion experience, too. I don't know if that passion makes him a reliable guide, though--I suspect he selected and staged the episodes the way he did in order to make a good film, not to produce a sober assessment or even accurate rendition of Bausch's art. Scant attention may have been paid to her use of repetition, for example, because however powerful it might be live in a theater it might be a dispiriting dud onscreen. I think Wenders wants you to run, not walk, to the theater to see Bausch live, and to that end has taken pains to make her work look as good on screen as he possibly can -- which may mean he's being less "true" to the works in their entirety than exisitng fans might like. But the film can't be a substitute for seeing the works live in their entirety in a theater. I do hope he captured the dances in their entirety and that he'll make them available once his initial round of proselytizing is done.

First off -- I love that Herzog film ("Cave of Forgotten Dreams")! I've even deluded myself that I get the albino alligators. Herzog claims to have wanted to use 3D to make the most of the paintings themselves, which use the natural contours of the cave's walls to add dimensionality to the animals depicted there. But ... there's a hilarious scene in which an endearlingly goofy scientist studying the cave demonstrates how to use a paleolithic spear thrower -- and of course Herzog shoots the scene so that the spear comes hurtling at you head on. I half suspect that spear thrower clinched the 3D deal for him. I too would have preferred less of the commentary and more of the dancing. It was hard for me to make much of an assessment of the film's overall pacing, however. The showing I attended was interrupted several times by an errant fire alarm. The soundtrack shut itself off during the first false alarm (standard safety practice, I gather), but the film itself did not stop as it was apparently supposed to. The projectionist attempted to rewind to where we were before the alarm went off, and it took several tries to find the right place. As a result I saw some episodes three times, both with and without sound and completely out of sequence and there was a fair amount of down time to boot while the firemen investigated the scene. Then the alarm--a loud bell and flashing strobes--went off a couple more times after the film started up again. So I couldn't tell if my sense that the film lost focus at around the 2/3 point had any basis in reality or not. Similarly, while I definitely enjoyed getting a second look at the dance sequences, I didn't much enjoy sitting through the commentaries twice -- so, again, it was hard for me to tell if the commentaries were a problem or if the way I saw the film was. Anyway, I think it's a tribute to Wenders' skill and Bausch's art that I walked out on a cloud despite the less-than-ideal viewing conditions.

I saw the 3-D version of Wenders' "Pina" over the weekend, and couldn't get it out of my head for days. The 3-D experience is peculiar -- it's not quite like watching dance in a theater and it's not at all like watching dance on film -- but it definitely works. In some ways it seems more visceral than seeing these works in the theater -- perhaps because there's no proscenium. (There are a couple of spooke moments when elements of the set seem to be projected out into the movie theater.) And can I just say that it's a delight to watch dance filmed by someone who really knows how to use a camera to tell a story. There are no silly cross-cuts or pointless close-ups or "wow! look at that" showcasing of bravura effects; Wenders knows what we need to see when and from how far back or from how close up. And he just revels in the dancers' diversity in age, body type, and ethnicity; he uses their distinctiveness and individuality to great theatrical effect. The film is comprised of extracts from "Le sacre du printemps," "Café Müller," "Kontakthof," and "Vollmond" interspersed with commentary from Bausch's dancers. Regarding the latter: rather than showing us talking heads, Wenders opted instead to show us the dancers sitting in front of the camera in silence while their previously recorded comments play as voice-over narration -- is if we're listening to their thoughts rather than watching them speak. I thought it was a really good choice -- these dancers are at least as eloquent with their faces and bodies as they are with words, if not more so -- but others have found it annoying. Wenders also pulls some of the extracts out of the theater and stages them in and around Wuppertal, where they look just wonderful. There's one genuine "coup de camera" -- Wenders shoots two of Bausch's dancers looking into a diorama of the "Cafe Müller" set, which magically comes to life as an actual performance of "Cafe Müller" while they talk. (The diorama is set up outdoors in a green and sunny park.) I recommend that you try to catch this in 3-D even if you don't much care for Bausch. At the very least it's an example of how to film dance well and what 3-D is good for.

I caught part of this on cable recently and although I have the greatest respect for your opinion, Kathleen, I couldn't watch it for very long. I felt sorry for them but it was all rather repellent and I couldn't find any reason to go on watching the poor things. I've sat through more repulsive sights, so I can't really explain this reaction..... Oh, it's definitely uncomfortable to watch those two women disintegrate along with their house, all the while carrying on as if it were a completely reasonable way to live. And although they clearly revel in the Mayles' attention, you have to wonder if it wouldn't be the better part of valor to grant them the privacy they don't seem to want.

I'll make the only judgement I can: I think rather more highly of The Correspondent's dancing than I do of Ms Bushnell's writing, but your mileage may vary.

Greskovic isolates -- correctly, in my opinion -- the problem other dance companies will have with reviving Cunningham pieces. How many companies can, "commit to the quiet concentration and rehearsal time suited to putting the chosen dance on stage?" The Cunningham technique and style is a very particular thing. Like the repertory of Antony Tudor, the repertory may require more time and singular focus than most companies are prepared to invest. That's an understatement. It makes me very sad that no one--not even in the press, really (those who had the space, of course)--challenged this final wish in a significant way. In my opinion, it's a case of devoted followers not stepping back and looking at the bigger artistic costs to our culture. If we're lucky, some of the works will be performed by a handful of excellent modern-dance schools like Julliard (who will make the time as part of their pedagogy); but I fear that will be it--at least for those of us in the US. You might find Robert Johnson's review of the final Park Avenue Armory performances interesting in this context. It isn't the first time he's expressed his anger about the plan to disband the company:

BAM has uploaded four short videos compiled from footage shot during the Merce Cunningham Dance Company's final repertory performances there in December. Links below ... Roaratorio Split Sides (Silas Reiner's solo) Second Hand Biped

What there is in "Russian Seasons" -- as well as in every other "abstract" Ratmansky ballet I've seen -- is a theatrically rich projection of a coherent community that gives the work the weight of drama even though it doesn't have a plot per se. Something is going on, and I think Ratmansky invites us to feel what it might be even if we can't isolate a storyline that can be put into words . Ditto "Namouna," where I think Ratmansky's ability to evoke a world and people it reached some kind of delicious, demented peak. And Paul, I think you're really on to something in suggesting that "[Ratmansky's] work will benefit the most from dancers with a taste for the fantastic, even the preposterous."